A/N: Okay, this will explain the crazy part in the prologue of why Thranduil and his sons were in Imladris for the death of a commoner. I know this is way way way far-fetched, but i needed it (my characters are based on real people and the reason Maranwë wanted those colored features in the first place is that's the way she looks in real life and I needed something creative to make it work, so please forgive me) Um... ya, and don't worry, the story's becoming heated, in my mind at least. lol I love the way my meniacle/perverted mind works. lol ;o)

Luv

Meg AKA DramaQueen

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)Larien(

There was a knock on the door. "Larien?" said Legolas' muffled voice from the other side of the door.

"Yes?" I fumbled to put my light overdress over my negligee.

"Are you decent?"

"Yes," I replied. Legolas slowly creaked the door open and peered his head around it. "Please, come in," I insisted.

"Man naa ha, hiril nîn?" What is it, my lady

"Perhaps we should go outside," I suggested. He nodded in agreement and followed me out another door that lead to a small balcony. I offered the Prince a seat and I sat on the railing. He stood for a moment, appearing uncomfortable. "Henio, havo dad, Legolas." Please sit down

He sighed but obeyed. "So what is wrong?" Legolas asked.

"It's just, I'm not exactly sure why it came upon me tonight, but I've been thinking a lot about my parents as of late."

"Ah- I can see where this is going," he said before I said anything more.

"I don't remember them really because they died so long ago."

"I wouldn't expect you to remember," Legolas explained softly. "Both of your parents died right after you were born."

"I was hoping you could help me."

"With what?"

"I want to remember. I don't want blissful ignorance. I would rather know the hard truth than live with the sugar-coated trash I've been fed for eight hundred fucking years, because I know that's exactly what it is, Legolas, and don't try to tell me any differently."

"Do not torture yourself so, Larien."

I pleaded, "I don't want to, Legolas. I need to." He sighed resignedly. "You are the only Elf here old enough to remember anything about them. Elladan and Elrohir are, well, let's just say that they're assholes, so they are of no help to me," I explained and Legolas laughed at the comment, "I feel unsure about touching this sensitive wound with Maranwë, and no one else is here who would know. My nescience is bothering me. You are the most honest person I know. I want the truth, Legolas."

He sighed again. "Man uma lle irma ista?" What do you want to know

"Everything you can tell," I begged.

)Legolas(

Everything I could tell? Should I tell her everything or just basics? Well I should tell her everything. After all, that was what she had wanted. I quickly tried to think of it from her point of view before speaking.

"Where shall I begin?"

"As far back as you can remember," she said quickly.

"Well, I was born on a crisp autumn day in Mirkwood about three..." I began, interrupted by her harsh stare. I laughed. "What?" Her stare intensified. I began the story. "Well, I knew your mother better than your father, of course, because as you know, you're mixed."

"What?!" she said, amazed. "What do you mean I'm 'mixed'?"

I bit my lip. Damn it.

"Legolas, tell me!"

"I didn't realize that you didn't know," I supplied.

"Nevertheless, you promised you would tell me everything."

Damn it. She was right- again. "Fine. You're mixed. You're half and half," I explained. Her jaw dropped further. "What is it?"

"You don't mean I'm a peredhel, do you?" she asked, her eyes widening at the mere thought. half-elf

"No. Your mother was of Mirkwood and your father of Rivendell. Haven't you ever questioned yourself about your hair?"

She gently shook her head so that her hair spilled over her shoulders. She then grabbed a honey-colored strand and examined it. "No. I never did, to tell you the truth. I just assumed it was a rare trait- like my eyes, I guess."

I smiled as I saw her emerald orbs. "You have Elena's eyes."

"What?" she repeated.

"Your mother- you have her eyes. She was valued in Mirkwood for her precious and rare eyes."

"What did my mother do in Mirkwood?"

"She was my mother's handmaiden. Unfortunately, like you, my mother too died when I was young, so your mother found herself with nothing to do but raise my siblings and myself. When all my brothers and I were grown, she left on a journey to nowhere."

"What do you mean?" she asked curiously.

"She set out from Mirkwood aimlessly- no where to go yet not wanting to return. She went through the Gap of Rohan and traveled up alongside the bank of the Brunien River until she reached Rivendell, where, naturally, she met and fell in love with Aranthi, your father, and she also befriended the Lady of Rivendell, Lady Celebrían, wife of Elrond."

There was an awkward silence that lasted only a moment before the inquisitive girl broke it. "Wait- now that I think about it, my hair is explainable, but why is my sister's hair so dark?" asked Larien intently.

"For a reason that even I do not know, Aranthi's parents did not approve of the union of the two, ever since they had been married. It eventually escalated so much that they traveled to the Mirkwood Mountains to escape it all. Aranthi and Elena left Rivendell with newborn Maranwë, who had the same silver-blue eyes and dark brown hair of your father at the time. They hid inside a secluded cave for about twenty years. Never seeing the sunlight at her young age, your sister succumbed to the darkness of her surroundings."

"Really?" she asked.

I nodded.

"So that is why her features are so dark?"

I nodded again.

"And why she speaks Elvish so easily and has that heavily accented voice when she speaks in the tongues of Men?"

I gave a murmur of agreement. "Aye. Your father spoke the tongues of Men quite fluently, however he spoke to your mother in Elvish for that was all she understood, so Maranwë only heard Elvish as she grew. The only way you and your sister learned the language was when you came here to Rohan."

"And that is why Maranwë is so dismal when she nears the Mirkwood Mountains, even though she recalls not why?"

I nodded again. "But after they fled their hideaway, she was able to carry on a normal childhood and was somewhat enlightened by the lack of darkness. Despite her youth, she has conformed to normality."

"Now we arrive at the inevitable- how did my parents die?"

I inhaled deeply, pained at the memory. "When your sister was about eighty-five and you were a month from being born, Aranthi was requested for an urgent council at Lothlórien. When he was traveling, about to journey up Caradhras, he was cut down by orcs. When Elena heard the news after you were born, she slowly succumbed to grief and died of a broken heart not two days afterward. The both of you were entrusted to the King of Rohan, for apparently he was one of your father's most trusted friends. From there, I believe you know the rest of your own life story."

"Yes," she murmured softly.

"Larien? Are you feeling well?" I asked, holding her hand, and she gripped it in pain.

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine," she said, sniffling.

"I shouldn't have told you the truth," I chided myself, sighing.

"No, Legolas," she insisted. "Thank you. You have told me what I have yearned to hear all my life. Thank you so much."

"Come," I said, taking her up in my arms, and bringing her to her bed. "Sleep, you are overcome."

She laid her head down and fell into slumber with her eyes closed not soon after that. I was amazed that she closed her eyes. Her exhaustion from her grief must have been greater than I had anticipated. Despite what she said, I should not have told her. I closed the door behind me and walked to my own bedchamber with sagging shoulders.

Wait- where was her sister?

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